Farewell Fic Fest
by GoldenQuill7
Summary: My responses to the Tumblr 'FarewellFicFest' prompts. Updated daily. Latest prompt: "King and Lionheart."
1. Every Day The Same

**Prompt:** 'Every Day The Same'.

**Summary: **Elyan is frustrated with the life that fate seems to have planned out for him, and it is not until he fights the prince that he is set free. Character study.

**Disclaimer:** Merlin is not mine

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The smell of ash and the ringing of metal were a part of Elyan's soul. He felt as though he'd been born into the raging heat of the forge and his blood had never cooled down. But although it was a part of him, Elyan did not desire the life that had been given to him by his birth.

From an early age his father had schooled him in the art of creating weapons and metal instruments, and as Elyan had grown stronger, so his education advanced. He was a fine blacksmith – his attention to detail and pursuit of perfection rendered his work better than it had any right to be for his fifteen years. He was proud, but given the choice preferred to wield a sword than forge one.

Every day was the same. He woke before dawn, dressed in his street clothes and carefully pulled his own sword – fashioned by himself, for himself – from under the bed and crept out of the door. Guinevere, at seventeen, sometimes rose at this hour to be on time for her maidservant job, and would shake her head when she saw him. She seemed to do a lot of that these days, ever since he had developed a talent for stumbling into street fights with the other young men of the Lower Town.

He would spend an hour or more slashing and hacking at the makeshift training dummy that was usually used by customers to test weapons, much to his father's exasperation as his exertions meant that weekly repairs were necessary. But Elyan would not relent. Every morning, he imagined deadly foes or assassins before him, and after cutting them down would pause, sweating and panting as the town around him slowly woke.

He would bathe before breaking his fast with his father, and then both would begin the day's work in the forge. They would not finish until sundown, at which point they'd return, seeing Guinevere only for supper and exchanging the same stories every evening about the day's events.

Elyan knew he'd been born into heat. But the forge was smouldering coals imprisoned by the furnace door and glowing metal to be tempered; he wanted wild fire.

It wasn't until the morning of Yule, just weeks before Elyan's sixteenth birthday that everything changed.

He was undertaking his usual regime, the cold, silent morning disturbed only by his grunts and the sound of steel slicing through fabric. He hadn't been able to sleep and was up much earlier than usual – it was only just beginning to get lighter. He didn't hear the footsteps, and it was only when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him that he spun around to face a bemused looking Prince Arthur.

"My Lord," he inclined his head respectfully, not bothering to hide his irritation at the intrusion too carefully.

"Not interrupting am I?" Arthur drawled with an unmistakeable patronising edge to his tone.

"Not at all," Elyan replied in a voice that said otherwise.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. He was in street clothes, out of his usual armour but still carrying a sword at his hip. He fingered the hilt, and Elyan realised that he was itching for a challenge.

"Funny," the prince continued, "To see the blacksmith's boy playing at being a knight."

"I'm not _playing_," Elyan's temper flared "I'm-"

"Practising?" Arthur laughed cruelly "You're a commoner, you can't be a knight… A guard maybe, if you're lucky, but let's face it, you'll never be anything more than an blacksmi—"

His taunting was cut short quite literally as Elyan swung at him furiously with his sword. It was a wide cut, clearly meant only to intimidate and not inflict harm, but nonetheless Arthur dodged deftly and drew his own weapon. The two boys began to circle one another.

"Could have you executed for that. It's treason to try and kill royalty."

"If you really think that would have got you you're more of a coward than we've all been led to believe!" Elyan shot back, and Arthur's face finally coloured angrily.

The prince lunged forward and slashed at Elyan, this time to wound. They were evenly matched – no armour, good weapons, almost equal strength. For long minutes Elyan and Arthur furiously swung at one another, parrying and grunting and letting out their aggression. Finally faced with an opponent, Elyan found himself fighting with all the frustration and resentment he carried, each thrust of his sword propelled by the promise of yet another day of the same tedious life. He could not account for Arthur's ferocity; what did a prince have to be bitter about?

"_Elyan!_"

He faltered at Guinevere's shriek, and did not block Arthur's swing correctly; the prince's sword slashed at his bicep and a searing pain shot through his arm and he cried out, clutching at the wound with eyes shut tight. There was suddenly a body close to his, a hand on his other shoulder as he sank to his knees.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Here…"

To his surprise, Elyan opened his eyes to find the prince tearing at the bottom of his linen shirt and using the fabric to bind his arm, looking strangely contrite at having actually wounded him.

"Elyan, are you alright?" Guinevere asked, the anger still not quite gone from her voice, but crouching on his other side all the same. He nodded, clenching his jaw; he didn't trust himself to speak for fear of his voice breaking. She held his hand as Arthur bound the gash, mouth set in a hard line.

"That should do it… Get Gaius to look at it today, just in case," Arthur tied off the makeshift bandage before extending a hand to Elyan to help him up. Once on his feet, Elyan fixed the prince with a suspicious glare.

"Why would you help me?"

Arthur shrugged, assuming an indifferent air.

"Knight's honour. Besides, can't have it going around that I'm cutting up the peasantry,"

Elyan felt his anger bubble again.

"Watch who you're calling-!"

"Elyan," Guinevere said warningly, before turning to Arthur "Sire, why are you out this early? You'll be missed, especially this morning…"

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled, and his face suddenly became closed "I was on my way home when… Never mind. I'm going."

With that he made to leave, but he didn't get more than two houses away before Guinevere called out once more, this time more familiar.

"Arthur!"

He turned apprehensively, as though he thought she might berate him for wounding her brother.

"Happy birthday."

He gave a half smile and inclined his head towards her, then left quickly. Elyan breathed a sigh of relief before a sharp pain in the side of his head materialised in the form of Guinevere grabbing him by the ear.

"Ow! Ow! Owwwwww, Gwen! Stop it that—"

"Hurts? Good! What do you think you were doing, he's the _prince_, Elyan, what if you'd hurt him?"

"But I didn't,"

She left go of his ear, and covered her face with her hands in exasperation. She spoke from behind them.

"You are a magnet for trouble, Elyan. Why can't you just…"

"What? Settle down? Accept that I have to lose? I'm not going to do that, Gwen."

She finally looked at him again, this time tired. He felt a stab of guilt – since he was born, she had been the lady of the house, and had been sister and mother to Elyan both. It was a great responsibility for a seventeen-year-old girl.

"I thought you'd take my side…" he mumbled, looking at his feet.

"Oh, Elyan, I didn't make you apologise, did I?" she replied, tone a little more gentle "But I can't go around telling off the crown prince. It doesn't work like that."

"Maybe it should."

She looked resigned.

"Elyan, today is Arthur's eighteenth birthday. That also means that it's the anniversary of his mother's death. Morgana says it's difficult for him, plus the obligations of being a prince… He can't escape it, even for a moment. His whole life has been planned out since before he was born. It doesn't excuse him, but can you understand why he's such a bully?"

Elyan nodded, and Guinevere touched his cheek before hurrying up the road to the castle.

Having a birthday that was also cause for commiseration; this much Elyan had in common with the prince it seemed. But unlike Arthur, he realised, he was not bound to his future by the expectations of a kingdom. He glanced at the sword in his hand.

He left the next day, not knowing where he was going or when he'd be back. He couldn't stay knowing that if he did, nothing would ever change. Little did he know that when he returned, nothing would be the same.


	2. Mountains That Are Stacked With Fear

**Summary:** Written for FarewellFicFest on Tumblr, prompt: "King and Lionheart". Once, Merlin fought for the promise of a new world and for destiny. Now, he fights for those whom he loves. Songfic.

**Disclaimer:** Merlin is not mine. Sigh.

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**Howling Ghosts**

**They Reappear**

"No one can choose their destiny, Merlin."

Kilgharrah's words echoed in his mind, and he shut his eyes tightly. That's why he'd begun this; protecting Arthur, defending Camelot, putting his own life on the line time after time. All in the knowledge that it would bring about a world he hadn't dared dream of.

**In Mountains That **

**Are Stacked With Fear**

The air around him stirred with anticipation and dread. Bodies pressed into him from behind and beside, the heat of chain mail in the sun burning to the touch if he got too close. The sun was high in the sky, and the drums of war seemed to beat faster and faster, in time with Merlin's heart. There would be no blood shed today, though, and for that at least, he was grateful.

**But You're A King**

**And I'm A Lionheart**

The body at his left shifted, and he turned to see an ashen-faced Arthur starting forward, striding across the field upon which so many would die tomorrow. In the distance, a slim figure clad in black broke away from her own army, and brother and sister met between their forces. On his other side, Merlin felt Gwaine tense and reach for the pommel of his sword. However, the meeting was brief and without incident; Morgana wanted war, and Arthur was beyond extending compassion toward her.

**And In The Sea That's Painted Black**

**Creatures Lurk Below The Deck**

Nightfall brought no relief from the tension. Nobody could sleep or eat or laugh. Each man was lost in his own thoughts, and for his part Merlin was distracted as he readied his king's armour. Arthur's tent overlooked the camp from a slight hill, and now he sat surveying the makeshift city of fires and fabric.

"I could have prevented this," he murmured dully, "If I'd tried to understand her, if I hadn't alienated so many of my people because they had magic…"

"Arthur…"

"It's true though, isn't it? I let Morgana slip away. I've stood by and let otherwise innocent people be executed. I've ordered some myself. That girl that Mordred—"

"Don't blame yourself for his betrayal," Merlin cut in, not bothering to temper the disdain in his voice. Arthur raised his eyes to look at him.

"You never trusted him. I saw it. Why?"

"Because I knew that his loyalty was not steadfast."

"How?"

"I had a feeling."

The ghost of a smile flitted across Arthur's face.

"You and your feelings."

**But You're The King**

**And I'm A Lionheart**

Later, after silence had long since fallen between them, Arthur spoke again.

"I understand if you want to go back to Camelot in the morning. It will be dangerous to remain here. We're outnumbered."

Merlin gave Arthur a disdainful look.

"You think that after all of the things I've had to put up with from you over the years, a war is going to scare me off? Really, Arthur."

This time Arthur smiled in earnest, and stood to clap him on the shoulder. He retired after that, and Merlin did not see him again until dawn. Neither of them slept.

**And As The World Comes To An End**

Daybreak brought the sounds of metal and shouts and the tangible nerves that twisted like angry snakes in all of their bellies. Merlin helped Arthur into his armour in total silence. When he was ready, Arthur exhaled shakily and twisted the ring from his finger, pressing it into Merlin's palm.

"If I should die, I want you to return to Camelot and give this the Guinevere. Tell her… Tell her I love her," after a moment he added "Tell her I love them both."

"Both?"

Arthur pressed his lips together hard and fixed Merlin with a meaningful look.

"Oh… Oh!"

"Oh," Arthur echoed sardonically, but there was little humour in it. Merlin felt a wrench in his gut; this was so wrong. But Arthur had cleared his throat and was now twisting his other ring from his thumb; the one with the Pendragon crest that he'd received from his father upon being sworn in as crown prince. This one he held out to Merlin instead of forcing him to take it. Merlin plucked it from his grasp, a little confused.

"I don't have time to write you a reference I'm afraid," he continued in that same forced casual tone "So this will have to do. For future employment, if you fancy running around after some other king after this."

This time Merlin was horrified and tried to give the ring back.

"No, Arthur you're not going to—"

"—Take it back, no, I'm not. But if I live, I will."

There was something in his face that told Merlin that this gesture was not purely professional. Before his resolve faltered, he pulled Arthur into a hug. The king tensed before returning the embrace, pulling away after only a moment or two. There was a flush to his cheeks but he otherwise did not betray his embarrassment. A voice from outside called Arthur's name; it was time.

"Good luck, my friend," Merlin said quietly, and after a determined nod Arthur left the tent, and Merlin stood alone.

**I'll Be There **

As the sun blazed fiery and red on the horizon, the two armies faced off silently, awaiting the signal to charge. There was some disturbance in Arthur's lines – an exclamation here, a grunt there, stretching in a slow line toward the king himself.

Merlin watched Arthur's eyes widen as he pushed his way to the king's side.

"Merlin-!?"

But Merlin did not stop, eyes fixed on Morgana at the center of her front line. She bared her teeth as he broke away from the Camelot forces, wrenching his arm out of Arthur's grasp and continuing to approach her.

"Morgana!" he roared across the battlefield, and silence fell instantly in his wake.

"Emrys!" she shot back, using his name as a challenge and starting forward in his direction. The two met between the silent masses, one clad in red, the other in black.

"We can end this. Between you and I. There needn't be any blood shed here today…"

"What are you doing?" he heard Arthur's voice close behind him, furious. Merlin did not face him; he instead watched as Morgana cocked her head to one side, considering him through narrowed eyes. Without a word, she spun on her heel and stalked back toward her army. Merlin remained tense, wary of a bluff. Then she heard her voice, so cold, so full of hate and steel.

"Kill them."

He had played his last card.

And they weren't ready.

**To Hold Your Hand**

He turned to Arthur as the front line of Morgana's forces began their charge; his eyes were wide but his expression was obstinate as he urged Merlin to make a run for it. Merlin sighed, with only seconds left before the first Saxons reached them.

"Please trust me."

With that, Merlin whirled around on the spot and stood up a little straighter. There were around twenty-five men in his immediate range, hurtling towards him and Arthur. He raised his arms and roared;

"_Tæfle_!"

He felt the warmth as his irises glowed with dragonfire, and the ripple of magic like a current under his skin before it burst forth like a broken dam, and all of the Saxons before him were flung high into the air. With a series of screams and sickening cracks, they hit the ground, and most did not move again.

'**Cus You're My King**

He turned to Arthur, whose expression now resembled having been struck across the head with a blunt instrument. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"You…"

"Arthur there's not time to explain. Just trust me. I'm on your side."

"You…?"

"Please. Just trust me, Arthur. As your friend."

He was begging now, trying to keep his long-suppressed emotions in check.

He never got to hear Arthur's reply as Morgana had recovered from the shock enough to let out a feral screech before issuing the order to charge.

And thusly the battle began.

**And I'm**

He had begun this because of destiny. He had been pushed by the dream of Albion, by a path he would not have chosen but felt obligated to pursue in light of his formidable powers. But every man he blasted backwards, every soldier whose bones he broke, every enemy he destroyed… They were all defeated out of love. He couldn't pinpoint when it had happened, but Merlin realised that Albion and fate and the promise of a new era had not been his motivation for a very long time.

It had been Arthur. And Gaius. And Guinevere. Gwaine, Percival, Lancelot, Elyan, Leon, and all the rest. The cook's pretty apprentice who slipped him morsels of food secretly. The cook herself, however much she bullied him. The stableboys who joked with him. The people of the Lower Town to whom he delivered remedies, who insisted he stay for food. The guards who pretended to not recognise him and refuse his entry to the royal chambers with laughter in their eyes. The people he took for granted each day were now his reason to fight.

So he fought with all he had. Not for Camelot; but for those he loved.

**Your Lionheart.**


End file.
